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Days of my youth! ye have glided away,
Earth does not bear another wretch,

Go, lovely Rose,

Good-morrow to the day so fair!

Go, where the water glideth gently ever,

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Far from my native land I stray,
Farewell the genial Seasons' pleasing reign,
Father of all, in every age,
For ever, from my boyhood, was my mind,
Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul,
From chambers brighter than the day,

From his cot on the plain hied the shepherd swain,
From the bright portals of the west,
From the climes of the sun, all war-worn and weary,

Hail, holy light, offspring of heav'n first-born,
Hail, orient sun, auspicious light,

Hail, roseate morn! returning light,
Hail to this teeming stage of strife,

Hark! not a breath of wind; no zephyr now,
Hark to the knell,

Hast thou seen, with flash incessant,

Heav'n! what enormous strength does Death possess!
Hence, away, thou syren, leave me!
How lonely is this wilder'd scene,
How lovely in the arch of heav'n,
How many new years have grown old,

How many thousands of my poorest subjects,
How smooth that lake expands its ample breast,
How still the morning of the hallow'd day!
How sweet it is in twilight shade,
How sweet, my friend, it is to rove,
Hush, hush, Eliza-hush, my love, nor wake,

I cannot weep, yet I can feel,

I climb'd the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn,
If dumb too long the drooping Muse hath stay'd,
If in Enchanter's shadowy hall,

If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright,
I love to linger near the leafless wood,

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In Persia's domain there once held his reign,
In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay,
In spring I visited this spot,

In the sightless air I dwell,

It is the Sabbath day-the day of rest,
It was a dreary place. The shallow brook,
It was a Friar of orders grey,

I wish I had a cottage snug and neat,

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Know'st thou the land of the mountain and flood, Page 191

Long years had elaps'd since I gaz'd on the scene,

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Mild arch of promise! on the evening sky,
Must it be? then farewell,

My banks they are furnish'd with bees,
My pensive Sarah! thy soft cheek reclin'd,

No child have I left, I must wander alone,
No fish stir in our heaving net,

November's chill and cheerless power,

Not a drum was heard, nor a fun'ral note,

Not a leaf of the tree which stood near me was stirr'd,

Not to the grave, not to the grave, my soul,

Now Spring returns, but not to me returns,

O'er breezy hill or woodland glade,

O'er the evils of life 'tis a folly to fret,
O fairest orb of heav'nly light,
Oft have I seen yon solitary man,
Of Leinster fam'd for maidens fair,
Oh, fly! 'tis dire Suspicion's mien,
Oh, Lady! breathe no sigh for those!
O Memory, thou fond deceiver,

Oh Wand'rer! would thy heart forget,
Oh! who the exquisite delight can tell,
Oh, yes, the sounds were sweet as those,
O sing unto my roundelay,

O spare this simple turf of love,

O take me to yon lonely grave,

O thou, whose bursting beams in glory rise,

On a wild moor, all brown and bleak,

On beds of snow the moonbeam slept,

Once, and not far from where those seats are seen,
Once in the flight of ages past,

Pale, wither'd wanderer, seek not here,
Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,
Poets may, with tuneful power,
Poor Mrs Levi had a luckless son,
Pour your tears wild and free,

Rear high thy bleak majestic hills,
Ruin seize thee, ruthless king,

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Say, lovely dream, where could'st thou find,
Say, pensive youth, why heave that sigh,

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On Linden, when the sun was low,

On, on to the just and glorious strife,

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Our bugles sung truce; for the night-cloud had lower'd, 50

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Say, wilt thou write romantic tales, like Scott,
Scenes of my youth! ye once were dear,
Sequester'd fountain, ever pure!
She had a form, but I might talk till night,
Sighs, light, warm spirits! in which air,
Slow in the east the wan cold moon arose,
Soft cherub of the southern breeze,
Softly the moonlight,

Soon shall I lay my head,
Stern winter has fled,

Sunk was the sun, and up the eastern heav'n,
Sweet be thy slumbers, sister dear,

Sweet daughter of a rough and stormy sire,
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
Sweet flower, which now I cast away,
Sweet flowers! that from your humble beds,
Sweet is the trance of slumber, sweet th' escape,
Sweet maid, if thou would'st charm my sight,
Sweet scenes of youth, to faithful memory dear,

Take, take away thy barb'rous hand,
Tell me, Eliza, must I yield,
Tell me, thou soul of her I love,
Tell me, where are the violets fled,
That sky of clouds is not the sky,

The breath of Spring is on thee, Aspley Wood!
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The flow'ry May now from her green lap throws,
The great Achilles, terror of the plain,
The hinds how blest who ne'er beguil'd,
The kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left,
The moon had climb'd the highest hill,
The peak of yon mountain is shining in light,
The rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower,
The rushing rivers that do run,

·

The scene was more beautiful far to my eye,
The sinking sun is taking leave,

The snow that crowns each mountain's brow,
The spearmen heard the bugle sound,

The Star of eve was bright-down the lone dell,
The sun of the morning,

The tears I shed must ever fall,
The tumult of battle had ceas'd-high in air,
The wight whose tale these artless lines unfold,
The wind has swept from the wide atmosphere,
There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a sigh-that half supprest,
There is a soft and fragrant hour,
There is a voice, of magic power,
They sin who tell us Love can die,

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Think not 'cause men flatt'ring say,

>This gentleman and I,

Thou art looking on the face of night, my love,
Though never taught to measure space,
Though now the cruel Fates' decree,
Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray,
Thou lone companion of the spectred night,
'Tis midnight deep:-o'er all the vacant plains,
"Tis past! no more the summer blooms!
"Tis sweet, when in the glowing west,

"Tis the last sweet smile of the evening sun,
To fair Fidele's grassy tomb,

To sigh, yet feel no pain,

To wed, or not to wed-that is the question, Trust not, sweet soul, those curled waves of gold, "Twas at the silent solemn hour,

·

"Twas eve's pensive twilight, the valley was grey,
"Twas night, and weary nature lull'd asleep,
"Twas noon of night, when round the pole,
"Twas when the seas were roaring,
Two criminals, a Christian and a Jew,
Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand,

.

Unheeded emblem of the mind!
Upon a little dappled nag, whose mane,

Vision of bliss! yet stay, ah, stay!

What beck'ning ghost along the moonlight shade,
What is Genius? 'tis a flame,

What is that smile that o'er the cheek,
What is th' existence of man's life,

When friendship or love,

When day has smil'd a soft farewell,

When from the blue sky traces of the day-light,
When lovely woman stoops to folly,
When marshall'd on the nightly plain,
When merry hearts were gay,

When Music, heavenly maid, was young,
When should lovers breathe their vows?

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When the black-letter'd list to the gods was presented,
When the fierce north-wind with his airy forces,
When the night-winds rock the sea-bird's nest,
Where Loch-Mary roars round its mountainous shores,
While chatting at a neighbour's door,

While thou at even-tide art roaming,
Whither, 'midst falling dew,

Whoe'er our stage examines, must excuse,
Who, in this world of care and strife,
Who is she, the poor maniac, whose wildly-fix'd eyes,
Who may she be, this beauteous, smiling maid,

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Why does azure deck the sky?
With burning bosom, and with tearful

eyes,

Ye glorious pageants! hung in air,
Ye hills of my country, soft-fading in blue,
Ye palaces, cities, groves, forests, and glades,
Ye waving woods! ye hills!

Ye winds, whose sounding pinions sweep,
Yes, sweet's the delight, when our blushes impart,
You ask me why unseen I stray,

Zephyr, whither art thou straying?

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